novel-bin Chapter 21 So-called Cults
Chapter 21 So-called Cults
the next day, early morning
221-B Cran Street, South Ward, Fog Harbor.
Rean sat on the sofa, holding out a copy of the latest issue of the Fog Harbor Daily.
The newspapers were full of boring stuff: some powerful figure had sponsored a commoner or established a charity fund, or His Majesty the King had enacted a new law, and then a bunch of people would start analyzing how this law would benefit the people.
Besides that, there are all sorts of job recruitment ads, creating a thriving scene.
Rean almost burst out laughing when he saw an editorial titled "Our Kingdom is Flourishing."
This is the main reason why he insisted on subscribing to the newspaper even though he knew it was a pile of dog shit.
Humorous enough!
I turned the newspaper over and found the local news section.
After searching for a long time, Rean finally found it—a line of extremely small text mixed in with countless recruitment ads:
"A violent brawl occurred yesterday in the McClos Harbor area, but no one was injured. The Fog Harbor Police Department has announced that it will take over the investigation of the incident."
No one was injured, huh...
Rean smiled and tossed the newspaper aside.
Just as he had guessed, the person in charge of the Sissippi company didn't dare to make a big deal out of it and chose to downplay the matter.
However, the fact that the newspaper could change the facts, and that the police station endorsed it, suggests that the network of connections behind it must be formidable.
Baron Jesper's position as a municipal councilor alone is far from sufficient to achieve this, even with money.
Once they reach a certain level of status, money is no longer the most important thing to these upper-class gentlemen.
As their bodies age, money becomes less important to those in power, while other things become increasingly valued, even at any cost, such as—
life!
Picking up a book he'd taken from Jesper's study yesterday, Rean casually flipped through it, and a prayer came into view.
"The supreme source of life, the eternal order of truth..."
"I swear by my flesh and blood, I offer my breath as a sacrifice..."
"I seek life to protect my mortal body, I seek truth to guide me astray..."
"..."
Imagine what would happen when these powerful and wealthy men, nearing the end of their lives, see Baron Jesper holding a book and claiming that he can bring a new life to the elites of Fog Harbor?
The answer is obvious.
The scene in the Sissippi Company warehouse, resembling a slaughterhouse, is the best proof of this.
Why did the arrival of 2000 slaves in Fog Harbor go unnoticed?
That's because these people were never transferred to Fog Harbor City. After they were transported to the warehouse, they were used as sacrificial offerings.
Ultimately, like livestock awaiting slaughter, they became part of the powerful's efforts to prolong their lives.
This method is common in the Life and Truth cult and is not unusual.
After all, no organization that can be called a cult is innocent. Even if they seem normal on the surface, they all have their own crazy and bizarre aspects.
As far as Rean knew, this method of sacrificing to prolong life was extremely costly.
Although the natives of the Western Continent also have dark skin, they are not pure Black people and cannot benefit from the Black Lives Matter aura; they cannot use one life for two purposes.
Often, to extend one's life by one or two days, at least several lives must be sacrificed, and there is still a certain failure rate.
Even at such a high cost, the powerful and wealthy who want to prolong their lives still flock to it.
It is precisely for this reason that the Church of Life and Truth has ultimately been defined as a cult by various countries, and its research on life has been listed as taboo!
After all, whether it's a kingdom or a family, no heir wants to wait until they're in their fifties or sixties, only to find that the old man above them is still alive.
"Meow~!"
Just then, the black cat, which was sleeping on the sofa, suddenly raised its head and looked warily toward the door. However, after sniffing the air, it lazily lay back down.
"Knock knock knock—"
A series of urgent knocks sounded at the door, accompanied by Kent's shouts: "Rean, it's me! Open the door, it's freezing outside!"
Rean put down the book in his mind and went up to open the door.
As soon as the door opened, Kent rubbed his hands together and hurriedly went inside. When he saw the burning fireplace, his eyes lit up and he quickly went over.
He walked to the fireplace, reached out to shoo the black cat off the sofa, and didn't think much of it.
"Rean, you have no idea how cold it is outside today. I'm even pregnant..."
Just as Kent reached out his hand, the black cat lying on the sofa bristled, its golden vertical pupils fixed on him, and a warning growl emanated from its throat.
Let alone cats breathing, Kent has seen human breath breathing all too often.
But for some reason, after seeing the sharp canines at the corner of the black cat's mouth, he had a vague premonition that if he went forward again, his throat would be bitten through.
With this premonition, Kent's throat bobbed involuntarily, he swallowed the words he was about to say, and even his heart began to race.
"Be quiet."
Just as Kent's emotions were beginning to turn into fear, Rean's voice suddenly rang out.
Instantly, the warning growl from the black cat's throat stopped abruptly.
Then, it gave Kent a haughty look, nimbly jumped off the sofa, and disappeared from sight with a cat-like gait.
"It seems you're not very popular with the animals, Mr. Kent," Rean said with a smile.
"Bullshit! That's because your black cat is too fierce! I... I just didn't realize it."
Coming to his senses, Kent felt his face flush as he realized he had almost been frightened by a cat. He gave a stubborn reply, then quickly pulled a brown paper bag from his pocket and changed the subject:
"You asked me to commission old Henry to investigate Jesper's matter. There are results, they're in here, I haven't had a chance to see them yet."
As he spoke, he handed over the brown paper bag, complaining, "Do you know how much that old bastard Henry charged me? Four pounds! A whole four pounds! He..."
"Actually, Mr. Kent, you don't need to remind me so deliberately. My memory is still working perfectly."
Rean pulled out a 4-pound note from his wallet and handed it over, then took the brown paper bag.
"And your acting skills are really too clumsy."
After saying that, Rean ignored Kent's delight at receiving the money and tore open the seam on the brown paper bag.
The bag was ripped open, revealing a black and white photograph and a file about the thickness of a finger.